The stands had long since become a boiling sea of black.
Countless fans in black support shirts, waving flags printed with Sunday Silence's name, packed every corner of the stands.
Their eyes were fixed firmly on the exit of the athletes' tunnel, and the roar rose wave after wave as they shouted that name in unison:
"Sunday Silence—! Sunday Silence—!!"
"She's definitely winning this one too!"
"Sunday Silence! Take the next crown!!"
"Show everyone what a true champion looks like!"
Amid the frenzy, there was no shortage of excited chatter about the rematch to come.
In the previous Kentucky Derby, Sunday Silence had claimed the first crown in an almost overwhelming fashion. Easy Goer, who had kept chasing after her and clinging to her rhythm, had also become, in many people's minds, "the only opponent who could keep Sunday Silence in sight."
If anyone in America could challenge Sunday Silence, it had to be Easy Goer.
Although Easy Goer had been left five lengths behind by Sunday Silence in the Kentucky Derby, the third-generation Big Red would, in the end, still be someone people placed their hopes on.
"Do you think Easy Goer will keep it close again today?"
"I heard Secretariat personally stepped in to help train Easy Goer! She's definitely prepared!"
"Seriously?! Then doesn't that mean Easy Goer's gotten crazy strong?!"
"Looks like today's race is going to be a treat!"
The air seemed to ignite. Every shift of light and shadow at the tunnel exit triggered another wave of commotion, like a roaring mountain and a crashing tsunami.
People rose onto their toes, craning their necks. Phones and cameras were lifted in a wave, all just to capture that black figure the moment she appeared.
And then, at last, the light and shadow at the tunnel entrance were completely split apart by a single figure.
Sunday Silence walked out.
In that instant, the shouts of the entire venue converged into a roaring tide that seemed ready to overturn the heavens, reverberating through Pimlico Race Course.
"Sunday Silence—!!"
The black-haired girl stepped to the edge of the track amid those thunderous cheers. Her black racing outfit snapped sharply in the sudden passing breeze, its hem and her long hair rising like a flowing ink painting.
Unlike the emotional fans around her, however, Sunday Silence was feeling rather depressed.
Sunday Silence swept her gaze over the stands at Pimlico, but failed to find Sakuraba. In her heart, she silently sighed.
Even though she had known beforehand that Sakuraba would not come to watch her race, some corner of her heart had still been hoping he would appear.
Ugh...
The girl set her little face into a stern expression, and her golden eyes looked somewhat hollow.
But in the eyes of everyone in the stands, that posture was absolutely terrifying.
"Is... is this the aura of a strong one?"
"That cold, proud expression... As expected, it's standard equipment for the powerful."
"Gwaaah—! I want Lady Sunday Silence to step on my face with that look of disgust!"
"???"
...
While the fans were losing their minds over Sunday Silence's expression, Secretariat, seated in the VIP seating, suddenly changed color.
That aura faintly rippling around Sunday Silence...
Something was off.
Secretariat's fingers silently tightened on the railing.
As one of the top powerhouses, Secretariat's perception of a strong one's aura was far sharper than that of ordinary people.
Compared with half a month ago at the Kentucky Derby, the pressure Sunday Silence gave off now was heavier, more restrained, and far more dangerous.
"That Sakuraba..."
Secretariat murmured under her breath, her amber eyes narrowing slightly.
"What exactly did he do to her in just half a month?"
Secretariat recalled how, when she had parted from Sakuraba before, he had looked so certain that Sunday Silence would win, and she seemed to understand.
So that was it.
Was Sunday Silence's blazing condition right now the source of Sakuraba's confidence?
Without a doubt, Sunday Silence's Zone had grown stronger too.
But how had Sakuraba done it?
Refining an Umamusume's Zone another step in such a short period of time...
Even for Secretariat, that would be extremely difficult.
How on earth had Sakuraba managed it...
"Don't tell me...?"
Secretariat remembered Sakuraba's mysterious massage technique.
Could it be that Sunday Silence's current condition had been pressed out by Sakuraba's hands?
Mmm...
No matter how she thought about it, that was far too absurd.
Just as Secretariat was shaken by the increasingly heavy aura around Sunday Silence, her thoughts in disarray, the light and shadow at the other end of the athletes' tunnel shifted again.
Easy Goer walked out.
Her blue-green hair glowed softly under the lights of the entrance tunnel. She stood tall, her steps steady, and her face bore her usual serious, earnest expression.
The supporters in the stands who belonged to her immediately let out warm cheers and encouragement.
"Easy Goer! You've got this!"
"Run your best today!"
"The pride of the third-generation Big Red! Go!"
But the cheers for Easy Goer were clearly inferior to the earlier roar that had nearly blown off the roof, whether in volume, duration, or that almost fanatical force.
The audience's reaction showed, directly and cruelly, the gap in popularity between the two.
Although Easy Goer had won the recognized title of "the only opponent who can keep Sunday Silence in sight" through her performance in the Kentucky Derby, and was seen as the most qualified challenger, in the hearts of the vast majority of spectators, their almost instinctive pursuit and worship of the absolute strong were still poured without reservation onto that black figure.
What Easy Goer received was more respect for choosing to challenge Sunday Silence than fervent support for her own strength.
Easy Goer seemed long accustomed to this atmosphere. She did not look around, only gazed firmly at the track ahead, gave a slight nod toward the area where Secretariat was seated, and then focused on her pre-race preparations.
That calm posture formed another kind of sharp contrast with Sunday Silence, who seemed to gather the focus of the entire venue even with a cold face.
Secretariat took this scene in, and the tangled thoughts in her heart about Sakuraba and Sunday Silence were temporarily suppressed, replaced by a complicated sigh.
Popularity was also part of strength and charisma. And in that regard, before Easy Goer stood a towering mountain that was truly hard to cross.
But even the hardest mountain could be climbed, as long as one dared to try.
At the very least, the Preakness Stakes before them was a fine opportunity to scale it.
Secretariat's gaze moved away from Sunday Silence and slowly settled on the blue-green figure near the starting point of the dirt track.
Easy Goer was quietly doing her final stretches. Her posture was upright and focused, shutting out all the noise around her.
Watching her younger sister's undistracted appearance, a nearly imperceptible softness and resolve passed through the depths of Secretariat's amber eyes.
Good luck, Easy.
...
At the same time, in another corner of the stands with a fairly good view, two Umamusume with entirely different auras, yet equally striking presences, stood side by side.
They were none other than Tony Bianca and Obey Your Master.
Tony Bianca stood with her arms crossed, her long hair drifting lightly in the breeze, her sharp eyes studying the situation on the track.
Beside her, Obey Your Master also stood with her arms crossed, her posture somewhat languid.
Their gazes focused on that black figure at almost the same time.
Sunday Silence was only standing there, yet the heavy, restrained, extremely oppressive aura radiating from her was already clearly perceptible, even making the flow of the nearby air seem a little sluggish.
Obey Your Master tilted her head slightly and asked in a volume only the two of them could hear,
"Do you think Sunday Silence can win?"
Her tone sounded casual, but her eyes were fixed on Tony Bianca's reaction.
Tony Bianca did not answer immediately. Her gaze lingered on Sunday Silence for a moment, swept over Easy Goer, who seemed calm not far away, and only then did she speak slowly, her voice even and cool.
"Looking only at her condition, there is no doubt she is at a blazing peak."
"Her Zone is more refined, and her aura is more dangerous. Her improvement over this past half month is extraordinary. As her teacher, I've already done all the groundwork and given all the guidance I should have."
"The fact that she is standing here now means she is fully prepared."
"..."
She paused, looking toward Secretariat's faintly visible profile in the VIP seating, and her brow creased almost imperceptibly.
"What I care about more now isn't Sunday Silence's condition, but whether that American student council president... has prepared some unknown 'next move' for Easy Goer behind the scenes."
Obey Your Master raised an eyebrow.
"Oh? You're worried that Secretariat personally stepping in to train her wasn't just about adjusting her condition?"
"That's right."
Tony Bianca's gaze sharpened.
"Secretariat is no ordinary trainer. She is someone who personally reached the summit and looked down over an entire era."
"Her understanding of races and her use of the Zone are far beyond ordinary people."
"If she truly taught Easy Goer everything she had, or even tailored a tactic specifically against Sunday Silence..."
She did not finish her words, but the concern within them was already self-evident.
Obey Your Master gave a soft laugh and turned her gaze back to the track.
"Looks like this race is going to get very interesting..."
Her gaze drifted between Sunday Silence and Easy Goer.
"Then your good student's victory probably won't come too easily this time, Teacher Tony~"
"You're an assistant instructor too. Why do you sound like this has nothing to do with you?"
"Not at all~"
Obey Your Master smiled at Tony Bianca.
"It's just that Sakuraba said Sunday Silence would win, so I'm only trusting his judgment, you know?"
Sakuraba's judgment?
Tony Bianca fell silent for a moment. In the end, she simply drew in a deep breath and fixed her gaze firmly on Sunday Silence once more.
Sakuraba's judgment had never disappointed anyone so far...
If he thought Sunday Silence could win...
Then this was locked in!
...
All the participating Umamusume stepped one by one into the starting gates. The soft sound of metal doors closing behind them seemed to press some invisible switch, temporarily shutting out the wave of noise from the venue and leaving behind a stretch of silence.
Easy Goer stood still in her assigned gate. Her blue-green hair was nearly motionless in the narrow space.
She slowly closed her eyes and took a deep, steady breath, as if she meant to expel every outside disturbance with it.
Right now, I only need to focus on one person.
The thought surfaced in her mind, clear and cold.
In this race, the only one who can threaten me, the only one who can truly fight me for victory, is Sunday Silence.
So I only need to pay attention to her!
The moment that thought settled, her senses seemed to grow sharper.
Even with her eyes closed, she could clearly feel the presence inside one of the gates beside her.
That was where Sunday Silence was.
An extremely condensed, extremely sharp aura was faintly radiating from there. It was not ostentatious, but it was like a ferocious beast imprisoned in a cage, cold and primitive menace seeping through the gaps between the bars.
That aura did not act directly on the body. It was more like an invisible pressure on the mental level.
It stirred the already thin air inside the gates, bringing with it a silent neigh and a scorching agitation.
Easy Goer could sense that the auras of the other Umamusume around them had begun to fluctuate noticeably, turning hurried, restless, even carrying a trace of fear they could barely conceal.
The faint sounds of shifting feet, slightly heavier breathing, and that instinctive stiffness of being locked onto by a natural predator...
Sunday Silence had not even started running yet. Just the aura of the Zone she unconsciously emitted had already placed a heavy psychological burden on the opponents sharing the track with her.
That's it...
That is the goal I have to chase and surpass.
That "strength" Big Sis made me feel... the kind of strength I have to give everything to even touch... this is what it is.
She opened her eyes again. In those blue-green eyes, there was no longer the slightest confusion or distracting thought, only pure focus and burning fighting spirit.
Her gaze pierced through the gaps in the gate and locked onto the track ahead.
The air inside the gates seemed almost frozen. Menace and concentration collided in silence.
In the next instant—
BANG!
The explosive roar of the gates flying open tore through the brief silence.
Almost in the same millisecond, that black figure truly shot out like a beast breaking free of its cage, carrying a heart-stopping burst of power.
Sunday Silence's start was so fierce it seemed almost unreal. Her black racing outfit pulled into a blurred afterimage under that instantaneous acceleration, and the dirt exploded into fine chips beneath her racing shoes.
Yet in that flash of lightning, another blue-green shadow also launched out without the slightest delay.
Easy Goer seemed to have predicted Sunday Silence's starting rhythm in advance. Her own start was just as swift and decisive, without any hesitation or probing. Her eyes locked firmly onto the black streak rapidly pulling away ahead, and her feet struck the ground with power as she clung on in pursuit.
"THE RACE HAS BEGUN—!!!"
The commentator's cry rang out through the broadcast across the entire venue, filled with unbelievable excitement.
"AN ASTONISHING START! SUNDAY SILENCE ONCE AGAIN DISPLAYS MONSTROUS EXPLOSIVE POWER! LIKE A BOLT OF BLACK LIGHTNING, SHE INSTANTLY ESTABLISHES THE LEAD! BUT! EASY GOER! EASY GOER HASN'T FALLEN BEHIND! SHE'S CLINGING ON TIGHT! MY GOODNESS, HAS THIS RACE ENTERED A WHITE-HOT BATTLE FOR POSITION RIGHT FROM THE START?!"
Just as the commentator said, almost the instant the gates opened, Sunday Silence and Easy Goer became like two powerful magnets of opposite polarity. One charged forward with absolute speed to establish the lead, while the other stuck fast and pursued with astonishing reaction and determination. The two seemed to cast the other athletes into another dimension in an instant, rushing straight to the very front of the pack and beginning an intense head-on battle with no buffer at all.
"COMPLETELY DIFFERENT FROM THE KENTUCKY DERBY! THIS TIME, SUNDAY SILENCE IS LEADING! AND EASY GOER, THE POWERHOUSE WHO ALSO USED A CLOSE-PURSUIT STRATEGY IN THE LAST RACE, IS NOW TAKING THE ROLE OF THE PURSUER WITHOUT HESITATION! FROM THE VERY BEGINNING, NEITHER OF THEM IS HOLDING ANYTHING BACK. THERE ARE NO TACTICAL DETOURS WHATSOEVER. THEY ARE LIKE TWO UNSHEATHED BLADES, CLASHING DIRECTLY AGAINST EACH OTHER!"
An even fiercer roar erupted from the stands. Everyone was stunned by this opening confrontation that had reached its climax from the very first moment.
From the very first step, Sunday Silence and Easy Goer had set the most direct, most intense tone for this rematch.
Leading and chasing!
Oppression and resistance!
It unfolded at once on the stage at the very front.
The other Umamusume instantly became foils to the two of them.
On the track, Sunday Silence's black figure cut through the wind like a blade. She seemed to pay no mind to Easy Goer, who was chasing relentlessly behind her, and focused only on increasing her own speed. Every step she planted carried a heavy force, leaving clear footprints in the dirt, and the sharp aura around her grew increasingly unrestrained as she ran, like a black storm leading the way.
As for Easy Goer, her blue-green hair streamed behind her at full speed, and her eyes were sharp as an eagle's, locked firmly onto the gap of only a few lengths ahead.
She did not try to overtake immediately. Instead, she adjusted her breathing and step frequency with precision, perfectly embedding herself at the edge of the rhythmic vortex Sunday Silence created. She neither allowed herself to be shaken off nor advanced recklessly, waiting like the most patient hunter for the opportunity that might vanish in an instant.
From the very first second, the Preakness Stakes had become a chase show belonging only to these two.
Leading at the very front, Sunday Silence's golden eyes reflected the track flashing backward and the blurred shadows of the stands.
The wind howled beside her ears, but it could not blow away the faint irritation in her heart caused by someone's absence.
She knew he had matters to attend to. She knew it was only natural that he had not come. But knowing was one thing; the disappointment and slight anger left behind after that secret hope fell through were real.
Since she was in a bad mood, she needed to vent it.
And for Sunday Silence, what better way to vent than running, than freely pouring out speed and strength on this vast track?
Especially when she was leading at the front, leaving everything behind her, and feeling her heartbeat resonate with her steps until they reached an almost primal rhythm. That sense of freedom and control was the best way to wash away the displeasure in her heart.
As for the person clinging tight behind her?
Sunday Silence did not even deliberately sense Easy Goer's exact position.
She could feel that blue-green aura sticking to her from behind like a sickness in the bones, but so what?
At this moment, she only wanted to follow the most direct impulse in her heart.
Run!
Think about nothing, care about nothing, just run forward with everything I have!
Keep raising my speed, keep widening the distance, let the shriek of the wind tearing through the air fill my ears, let the dizziness and exhilaration of high speed drown out every stray thought!
This unrestricted, willful Front Runner style itself brought her an almost rebellious pleasure.
Rules?
Tactics?
Her opponent's intentions?
Before absolute willfulness, all of them seemed irrelevant.
Chase me if you want!
She thought indifferently in her heart. Her steps did not fall into disorder in the slightest. Instead, they grew even more powerful and more violent as her emotions rose.
The black aura of her Zone was no longer deliberately restrained. With the release of her emotions, it faintly surged around her like black flame.
She did not care whether Easy Goer could keep up, nor did she care how much stamina this running style would consume.
Right now, she only wanted to run, to reach the farthest front at the fastest speed, and leave all the frustration in her heart... buried in dust so distant she could no longer see it.
And so, a scene appeared on the track that left both the commentator and the audience feeling breathless.
Sunday Silence, leading from the front, not only failed to take any conservative or controlled approach because of Easy Goer's tight pursuit, but instead seemed to be ignited by something. Her speed climbed step by step as she charged forward with an almost tyrannical posture.
The stamina inside her body was being drawn out by high-speed running like a receding tide. Every muscle was sending out a heavy, unmistakable warning.
Easy Goer gritted her teeth, her blue-green eyes fixed on the black back ahead that seemed not to know fatigue.
Her lungs pumped violently like bellows, yet the air she inhaled never seemed enough to fill the gap left by that rapid consumption.
My stamina... is dropping.
The realization was cold and clear.
As early as their clash in the Kentucky Derby, she had already known that there was a gap in stamina reserves between herself and Sunday Silence.
Even after Secretariat's hellish special training over the past two weeks had pushed her endurance to unprecedented heights, that fundamental gap had not been completely erased.
It had only pushed the breaking point back a certain distance.
If I keep running at this pace...
The one who loses speed from running out of stamina will be me.
The pace of the race was completely under the control of the willful black figure venting in front of her.
It was a rough, unreasonable running style that crushed everything purely with speed and power, violently tearing apart every tactical calculation.
Easy Goer could feel herself being dragged by the opponent into a dangerous quagmire.
A quagmire of pure attrition, where she was destined to be the first to run out of strength.
This was a pure tug-of-war.
The one with higher stats would win.
And yet, no wave of anxiety rose in her heart because of it.
On the contrary, a strange calm soaked through her thoughts like ice water.
At that moment, Secretariat's words during special training echoed in her mind with perfect clarity.
"Easy, you need to remember. Running... can be addition, and it can also be subtraction."
"Stamina, finishing kick, rhythm control, use of the Zone... all of these are used to 'add.'"
"They stack up, making you faster, stronger, and longer-lasting on the track, so you can surpass opponent after opponent."
"But..."
Secretariat's amber eyes had seemed to see through all her doubts and unwillingness.
"When you face an opponent who seems ahead of you in every aspect of 'addition,' even to the point of making you despair... for example, that child named Sunday Silence."
"If you want to win, you can't only think about adding more than her."
"Because that may be a gap you cannot catch up to no matter what you do in the short term."
"At a time like that, you need to learn how to 'subtract.'"
I can't beat her with addition.
Sunday Silence had unique, even terrifying advantages in pure speed, power, and even the stamina reserves she was now squandering so extravagantly.
Fighting her head-on in those areas was, just as her sister had said, a path whose end could not be seen in the short term.
So... if I want to win, I have to subtract!
Not compare who can add more, run faster, or last longer, but subtract her advantages!
Subtract the pressure brought by her reckless speed!
Subtract the control of rhythm created by her tyrannical lead!
Subtract the seemingly flawless momentum born from her emotional release!
Turn this battle of attrition, which appears to be a simple contest of addition, into a duel of subtraction that requires wisdom, precision, and breaking convention!
That thought was like kindling, instantly igniting the dormant fighting spirit in Easy Goer's eyes.
Her breathing was still rapid, and her stamina was still draining away, but in that moment, her will completed some crucial transformation.
Just as the race had barely passed the halfway mark and the audience was still holding their breath over that astonishing leading speed, Easy Goer moved.
Without the slightest warning, a blue-green glow of the Zone burst suddenly from around her.
The light was not dazzling, but it carried a heavy, highly restrictive pressure, like countless invisible hands piercing through the air and grabbing fiercely toward the black gale ahead.
This was not to accelerate herself. It was a use of the Zone born purely to "bind" and "interfere" with the opponent.
A powerful invisible force precisely enveloped Sunday Silence. It did not directly block her, but instead tried to cling to her steps like a heavy swamp, disrupt her smooth rhythm of exerting strength, and drag down that reckless speed.
Almost at the same time, Easy Goer's blue-green figure abruptly accelerated again.
No longer satisfied with merely following from behind, she shot forward like a cyan arrow skimming the ground and rushed fiercely to Sunday Silence's side.
Shoulder to shoulder, their figures crossed.
Immediately afterward, under everyone's astonished gazes, Easy Goer made a move so bold it was nearly rough.
She dropped her shoulder, turned sideways, and used her sturdy body to squeeze without mercy, with a clear purpose, into Sunday Silence's running path.
Body collided with body in the middle of high-speed running with a heavy, forceful impact.
The blue-green and black figures swayed slightly in the middle of the track.
Off the track, Obey Your Master, who had been watching with her arms crossed, suddenly lit up her starry eyes and blurted out almost without thinking,
"That move...! It's the same elbow Michelle My Baby used on Oguri Cap in last year's Japan Cup!"
It was not an illegal shove, but an extremely aggressive physical contest and path squeeze within the limits allowed by the rules.
Combined with the Zone deployed at the same time, aimed at suppression and interference, it formed a double strike.
Aura suppression to disrupt the rhythm.
Physical confrontation to squeeze space.
"SUNDAY SILENCE'S SPEED... HAS DROPPED!"
The commentator's cry rang out at just the right moment.
Indeed, under the double interference of that sudden Zone restraint and physical collision, Sunday Silence's originally unstoppable, violently smooth running rhythm hit an extremely slight yet critical stagnation.
Her speed visibly dropped by a small margin. Although she immediately adjusted and stabilized herself again, that instant of slowing abruptly interrupted the momentum with which she had been trying to widen the lead of several lengths between herself and Easy Goer.
The subtraction had succeeded.
Easy Goer had forcibly subtracted part of Sunday Silence's speed advantage and rhythm control through a method that was not a frontal contest of stamina consumption.
...
Watching that lightning-fast scene on the track, Tony Bianca's pupils suddenly constricted, and her expression instantly grew incomparably grave.
She whipped her head around, her sharp gaze shooting like a blade toward that elegant figure in the VIP seating.
Secretariat... Is this the "secret plan" you prepared for Easy Goer specifically against Silence?!
Using the Zone for interference and suppression, combining it with highly aggressive physical confrontation tactics, striking at the critical midpoint of the race to destroy the leader's rhythm and state of mind...
Not brute force, but clever force.
Well played! Truly well played!
...
And at that moment, in the VIP seating, Secretariat looked at the tactic her younger sister had successfully executed and at Sunday Silence's slightly stalled figure. Her tightly pressed lips finally could not help curving upward into a faint yet incomparably confident arc.
A sharp light of a plan succeeding flickered in her amber eyes.
In her heart, with a trace of apology yet with incomparable firmness, she silently thought:
Sorry, Sakuraba.
You may have given Sunday Silence astonishing growth...
But this time, it seems the formula for victory will be written by me and Easy.
This time, the victory belongs to my little sister!
...
In Tokyo, inside Sakuraba's foot-massage parlor, the air was filled with a faint herbal fragrance and tranquility.
Sakuraba reclined in a comfortable massage chair, one hand resting casually on the armrest while the other held up his phone. The screen faced him, reflecting his focused yet slightly relaxed expression.
A plate of opened snacks sat on the low table beside him, but right now, his attention was completely absorbed by the livestream.
On the screen, Sunday Silence's familiar black figure was leading with her usual tyrannical posture, and the sound of the wind seemed to come through the speaker.
The corner of Sakuraba's mouth originally held a faint, knowing smile, as if everything was within his expectations.
Her condition was blazing, and while this venting style of running was willful, it really did fit that girl's personality. As long as her stamina held, her chances were high.
However, the instant the race passed the halfway point and Easy Goer suddenly unfolded her blue-green Zone and charged up to squeeze into her—
Sakuraba's brow furrowed at once.
The light of the phone screen reflected in his eyes, clearly showing Sunday Silence being restrained and disturbed by the Zone, then knocked slightly off balance by the body collision, along with the resulting drop in speed.
"Tch."
A short, sharp sound slipped from Sakuraba's lips.
He subconsciously reached for the snacks on the low table. His fingertips touched the package but stopped there, his eyes fixed hard on the screen, even forgetting the motion of bringing them to his mouth.
The snack bag crinkled faintly between his unconsciously pinching fingers.
On the screen, Easy Goer had already used that successful interference to close the gap, and the two were almost running side by side. The suspense of the race had suddenly surged.
The commentator's excited voice came through the phone speaker, analyzing Easy Goer's brilliant and daring "subtraction" tactic.
Sakuraba's brow knit tighter and tighter. The bit of ease in his eyes vanished completely, replaced by a complicated emotion mixed with surprise and displeasure.
He muttered in his heart, even seeming to hold his breath for an instant.
That Secretariat... she really prepared a move like this for her sister?
Zone interference plus physical contact, striking specifically at the middle rhythm point...
She calculated the flaw in Sunny's willful running style.
On the screen, Sunday Silence seemed to be readjusting her steps, but the situation where her advantage had been weakened had already taken shape.
A subtle anxiety crept into Sakuraba's heart.
My little girlfriend... isn't really going to lose, is she?
That thought made the snack he had forgotten to chew in his mouth turn tasteless.
Sunday Silence's face surfaced in his mind—the little face that was usually either cold or awkward, and only faintly lit up when looking at him.
If she lost, how depressed would she be?
And more importantly—
Finally!
Sakuraba almost wanted to shout in his heart.
Finally, I'm seriously hoping the Umamusume I invested in will win for once!
You're not going to lose on me now, are you?!
Holy crap, am I really going to get shipped off to the Gulf of Mexico by Secretariat?
Is it too late to break the contract now??
Just as Sakuraba was having a frustrated breakdown far away in his Tokyo foot-massage parlor, the situation on the track at Pimlico Race Course was undergoing an even more intense change.
Sunday Silence could clearly feel the abnormality in her body. Her legs felt as though they had been filled with lead, every step taking more effort than expected. Her breathing rhythm was stubbornly disturbed by that blue-green Zone power, and even her chest felt as if it had been clenched by an invisible hand, leaving her painfully stifled.
Not to mention the blue-green figure beside her, who was continuously exerting pressure through physical contact, trying to force her out of her ideal running line.
I was clearly...
In her golden eyes, the hollow depression gradually gave way to an even hotter emotion.
I just wanted to go for a run and vent a little...
The disappointment of Sakuraba not coming to watch, the hollow feeling of standing alone at the starting line, the frustration of wanting to see him but being unable to...
She had only wanted to cast all of that behind her through this simplest act of running.
To let speed carry away her displeasure, and let sweat wash away her depression.
And you... you even want to stop me from doing that?!
Not only did the embers of her depression fail to extinguish, but this outside obstruction and suppression completely ignited them, transforming them with a boom into a blazing, almost boiling irritation.
I'm pissed off!
In short, extremely angry!!
Sakuraba not being by her side was one thing!
But she was not even allowed to run quietly and freely to her heart's content?!
Why?!
What gave this one taught by Secretariat the right to get in her way with such an annoying method?!
Fine!
Since you like blocking me so much, using that sticky Zone and irritating physical contact to mess with me...
BOOOOOM!
THEN I'LL BREAK THROUGH AND SHOW YOU!!!
An aura far more violent and ferocious than before suddenly exploded from within Sunday Silence.
The black aura of the Zone that had originally been faintly rising now seemed to have been doused in boiling oil, or like dry wood thrown into a furnace. Catalyzed by the extreme emotion of anger, it burned fiercely.
It was no longer restrained pressure, nor casual venting. It had become a black flame of rage filled with aggression and an absolute will to resist.
That flame of rage was invisible, yet it seemed to possess physical heat and impact.
It fiercely braced against Easy Goer's blue-green Zone, which was aimed at restraint and interference. It did not resolve it skillfully, but "burned" through it by force in the roughest, most unreasonable way.
Sssss—!
It was as if one could hear the silent explosions of two Zone powers fiercely clashing and grinding against each other.
Easy Goer let out a muffled grunt, her expression shifting slightly. She felt as if her Zone had struck a scorching iron wall advancing at high speed and covered in spikes. The restraining force was being continuously torn apart and neutralized by that violent anger, and the backlash shook her mind, causing the pressure of maintaining the Zone to surge.
After that instant of stagnation, Sunday Silence's speed not only did not continue to drop. Instead, under the push of the black flame of rage, it began to climb again with an even more violent, more reckless posture.
Her golden eyes were terrifyingly bright, burning with pure anger and a stubborn refusal to lose.
Tactics, subtraction, stamina management... at this moment, all of it had been thrown beyond the clouds.
Right now, there was only one thought in her mind:
KNOCK HER AWAY!
BURN THROUGH!
RUN PAST HER!
NO ONE GETS TO STOP ME!
THIS VICTORY IS MINE!
IT'S THE GIFT I'M GOING TO GIVE RYO!
IT'S ABSOLUTELY NOT SOMETHING YOU'RE ALLOWED TO TOUCH!
Facing Easy Goer's physical contest and path squeeze, which refused to yield even a step, Sunday Silence not only did not retreat or evade, but instead made the most direct response, the one most suited to her irritable state of mind at this moment.
HEAD-ON!
She abruptly dropped her shoulder and drove power through her waist, firmly stabilizing her center of gravity. Then, with an even more ferocious and explosive posture, she pushed back toward the direction Easy Goer was squeezing in from.
This was not a technical exchange, but a frontal collision of pure strength and will.
THUD!
Another, even heavier sound of bodies colliding.
This time, Sunday Silence's body, filled with anger and resolve, displayed astonishing stability and force.
Easy Goer only felt a tremendous force rebound against her. A clear numb soreness spread through her shoulder, and the squeezing posture she had carefully maintained was instantly disrupted by that rough counterattack. Her steps even showed a nearly imperceptible stumble because of it.
I'm losing out!
Alarm bells blared in Easy Goer's heart.
She had not expected that under such interference, her opponent's counterattack would be so decisive, so violent.
And after that lightning-fast physical clash, the front of the track suddenly opened wide. The long curve had already ended, and before them lay Pimlico Race Course's final, decisive straight.
The finish line was still ahead, yet it seemed close enough to touch.
"THE FINAL STRAIGHT—!!!"
The commentator's voice tore through the air, carrying irrepressible excitement.
At the instant the stage of the final battle opened, the aura around Sunday Silence changed completely.
It was no longer merely burning anger. That pitch-black flame of rage seemed to be compressed and refined to the utmost, transforming into a purer, more domineering power.
Anger became fuel, and that fuel was now poured entirely into an absolute desire for victory.
It was the resolve to break through every obstacle, seize victory firmly in her hands, and present it to someone.
Rumble—!!!
It was as though invisible thunder exploded the moment she set foot on the straight.
Black light from the Zone shot into the sky. It no longer rose like flame, but instead swept out like a bursting black flood, like the cloak of a tyrant ruling over the world unfurling in all directions, rushing overwhelmingly forward, toward the finish line, toward victory with absolute dominance.
SHE WAS GOING TO CROSS THE LINE!
NO ONE COULD STOP HER!
"NOT A CHANCE—!"
Easy Goer's eyes flew wide, her teeth nearly drawing blood from how hard she clenched them.
How could she allow her opponent to run so freely and take victory away? The subtraction her sister had taught her was not over yet.
Under her full-force urging, the blue-green light of the Zone no longer tried to bind Sunday Silence. Instead, it abruptly changed form and condensed.
One invisible yet heavy and solid wall of air after another seemed to appear out of nowhere, standing in succession directly in front of Sunday Silence's sprint.
Every wall carried a powerful obstructive force, meant to forcibly cut down her speed and disrupt the rhythm of her final sprint.
Subtract your speed! Subtract your momentum! Subtract your possibility of victory!
However...
Under Easy Goer's horrified gaze, Sunday Silence faced those invisible barriers standing before her one after another without the slightest intention of slowing or changing direction.
In her golden eyes, there was only the reflection of the finish line and a determination that would not turn back. The domineering black torrent of her Zone was like the sharpest battering ram, and also like black lightning that ignored all obstacles.
She crashed into them!
BAMBAMBAMBAM!!!
A series of muffled explosions that made hearts tremble burst out one after another.
That was the sound of the black torrent violently smashing through the blue-green walls of air. The Zone barriers Easy Goer had condensed with all her strength were torn apart, pierced through, and crushed layer by layer before that sprint, which was so rough it defied reason and so tyrannical it ignored all rules, as though they were made of paper.
The barriers of subtraction were as fragile as thin ice before the violent force of addition.
"Impossible...!"
Easy Goer's pupils abruptly shrank, and disbelief appeared on her face for the first time.
Her Zone was being forcibly broken through, and the backlash made her blood churn.
As for Sunday Silence's speed, after smashing through every obstacle, not only did it fail to decrease—it climbed to another terrifying peak under that unstoppable momentum of breaking through every difficulty.
The black figure turned into black thunder tearing through space on the final straight. Wherever she passed, even the air seemed to be pushed aside and scorched.
That supreme, crushing posture made every witness involuntarily think of a title from the bottom of their hearts—
Black Tyrant.
At this moment, she was charging toward the throne in the form of a tyrant, launching her final unstoppable assault.
The finish line was within reach.
Victory was seized by force into her hand.
Under countless gazes, as the sound waves boiling to the extreme nearly overturned the roof of Pimlico Race Course—
That black thunder, wrapped in dominance and determination that crushed every obstacle, broke through the band of light symbolizing the finish line first with an unmatched posture.
"SHE CROSSES THE LINE—!!!"
The commentator's roar mixed with the near-mad cheers that erupted from the entire venue in an instant, turning into a deafening tsunami of sound.
"SUNDAY SILENCE—!! IT'S SUNDAY SILENCE—!!! SHE CROSSED THE FINISH LINE! THE WINNER! THE CHAMPION OF THE PREAKNESS STAKES IS—SUNDAY SILENCE—!!!"
The black figure maintained her astonishing speed for some distance after crossing the line before slowly decelerating.
Sunday Silence came to a stop, panting lightly. Her black racing outfit was soaked with sweat, clinging tightly to her body and outlining the rise and fall of her figure after that intense exertion.
The black hair at her forehead, streaked with white, was also stuck to her cheeks with sweat. But her golden eyes were astonishingly bright. The anger that had burned within them had already settled, replaced by a nearly blank yet incomparably blazing brilliance.
She raised one hand above her head and clenched her fist hard.
The Black Tyrant had seized her Preakness Stakes!!
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